Register my car? Eh, I'll just ride this expired registration out as long as possible and then face the consequences.

Send Grandpa a birthday card? Mom, these people obviously know I love them.

My inability to decide started at a young age.

Let me set the scene for you.

There are ripped magazine photos of Colin Farrell and Josh Hartnett are on all four walls of my bedroom, and there's purple blow-up furniture, jelly shoes of various colors all over the floor and gel pens on Lisa Frank notepads taking up every inch of my desk.

Pretty basic 90s sh*t.

What wasn't normal about it was how often I moved my furniture (probably why my mom agreed to buy me that awful blow-up stuff).

One week, my bed was facing the door because it made me feel safe to see who was coming in.

The next week, my bed was by the window.

The week after that, it was in the corner, away from the window because there was a draft, and it was too cold over there.

Where else could I put my bed?

Oh, I know. Great idea. I'm gonna shove this f*cker in the closet and leave all my clothes homeless.

And as the icing on the cake, I'm gonna string some Christmas lights up and hang a sheer "princess" net from the ceiling.

This was back when I used to create homes on 3D Home Architect, while all the other kids were learning how to make their Sims have sex.

I wanted to be an architect and an interior designer. And when you're a kid, no one crushes your dreams.

I'd like to tell my 10-year-old self, "You don't know sh*t about feng shui, and that 120,000-square foot house you built doesn't even have a roof!"

Fast-forward 16 years, and my current situation doesn't look much different.

I mean, let's be real. Once I learned what a B-list actor was, Colin's pictures obviously had to go. (*Tear.*)

But really, at 26, who has it all figured out?

For example, when you go to a job interview, and the interviewer asks you what your long-term goals are, you wonder how the f*ck you're supposed to know what you want to be doing five years from now, when you can't even remember what you had for dinner last night.

Maybe I'll go back to school and get my masters. Maybe I'll write a book. Maybe I'll be a f*cking magician.

I don't know.

Yesterday, I woke up and decided I wanted to have black hair. One hour and two boxes of hair dye later, I now have black hair.

I think this is the negative side effect of suffering from chronic indecisiveness. (They should probably add this to WebMD.) You have to be impulsive, otherwise you will just keep changing your mind.

If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that I'm not sure of anything.

If there are decisions that are not imperative for me to make, I don't want to make them.

Perfect example: I went to pick up my prescription a couple weeks ago from Target, and the pharmacist asked me what color "ring" I wanted around my bottle.

What the f*ck? It's a bottle of antibiotics.

Who gives a sh*t what color it is? Pink, yellow, red, purple, green... I don't need this in my life.

I want to know I have the power to make decisions on my own. I want to know I can change my mind at any time. I want to know my opinions are respected.

But, when I'm in the middle of playing myself in an intense game of table tennis, I don't even want to think about the options that really won't make a difference in my life.

At the end of the day, all that matters is we're happy.

Isn't that what they say?

So, if overanalyzing every last detail is what I have to do in order to make a decision that has the potential to make me happy, then I'm going to do it.

But, who knows?

Tomorrow when I wake up and realize I never bought the milk at the grocery store and remember I'm antisocial and want to disinvite my friends from Taco Tuesday, I might change my mind on this, too.